


Without Reason

by WerewolvesAreReal



Series: Consequences [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, Bad Therapy, Cats, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Dissociation, Friendship, Gaslighting, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized racism, Jewish Spock (Star Trek), Loneliness, Loss of Autonomy, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Trauma, Misdiagnosis, Misunderstandings, Panic Attacks, Psychiatric Abuse, Racism, Starfleet Academy, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Trauma, Unrequited Love, questionable medical ethics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28857822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: Temporarily posted to Earth, Spock finds old problems coming to haunt him.(Or: Spock has finally learned to ask for help. But sometimes, no one is around to listen.)
Relationships: Spock/OMC
Series: Consequences [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798576
Comments: 57
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For context this takes place after a second five-year mission while the Enterprise is being refit (presumably for a period of 1-2 years). Most officers have either been reassigned or are currently on temporary posts; Spock & Kirk, who are still technically the Enterprise's commanding officers, are temporarily posted to Starfleet Academy in teaching positions as they oversee the refit with Scotty.

In summer the heat of San Francisco can almost approach the light warmth of a Vulcan spring day. The humidity is different, though – the air itself sinks and presses down into Spock's skin, leaving him sticky and vaguely uncomfortable by the time he walks to the edge of Starfleet Academy's campus.

The campus rests at the edge of the bay, just beyond the equally impressive offices of Starfleet's Earth-headquarters. Spock has an office there too, right next to Jim; they're both members of half a dozen committees, and Spock's research keeps him as well-occupied as the more clandestine and classified endeavors of his friend.

But the days of starships and exploration is, for the moment, behind them. Most work at Headquarters is administrative these days. His research in the Academy labs – and his lectures – hold more interest.

Usually.

“Captain Spock!” a voice cries. Spock does not halt, but obligingly slows his pace until a gasping Caitian cadet reaches his side.

Spock eyes the cadet as he walks. “You would be wise to spend more time at the gym, Mr. Zeless. I estimate you would only barely pass your required physical exams.”

Caitians do not blush, but Zeless's ears sink against her head. “Yes, Sir. Captain, have you decided who will be joining you for the training cruise in, uh – you know, six months from now?”

“On Earth, that cruise would occur in _December.”_

“Yes, Sir. Have you decided?”

“I have not.”

In truth, he hasn't even started to think about it.

Some of Spock's less-important work has been piling up lately. Odd, considering he has no urgent research. Maybe he should skip lunch to finish some paperwork.

“Oh! Yes, Sir – I didn't mean to imply – I was just curious.”

“Of course,” says Spock. And nothing more.

Cadet Zeless's ears flatten further. “Um. Thank you, Sir.” She darts away just as rapidly as she came.

Spock watches her go. He finds himself acutely aware of her youth, her energy. And he's surprised to find that he envies it. By Vulcan standards Spock is still young. In sixty years he will only just be considered 'middle-aged.' But the fatigue dragging at his limbs could make it easy to forget this.

Maybe he just needs to sleep more.

Spock keeps walking. The prospect of study is tedious right now, but Spock prides himself on keeping up-to-date on the more serious research journals. As usual, he enters Starfleet's huge, looming library at the center of campus – nodding to the desk clerk – and situates himself at an empty table at the entrance to the sprawling astrophysics section. It is important, Spock has always thought, to make himself publicly approachable.

Though this, too, he has been reconsidering of late. It's hard to read when every passing cadet tries to greet him. Spock has always been famous – he was _born_ famous – but at least the respect of fellow Starfleet officers, accorded due to his own deeds rather than an incidence of genetics, usually doesn't bother him.

Today, it does. Spock knows what some of the cadets say about him. People say his work is flawless, inspired. As a Vulcan, they envision him like some distant machine of academia – confident, efficient, and without mistake.

The articles Spock reads seem to blur in front of his eyes. After the 16th greeting Spock gathers his things and finds a quieter section of the library. He increases the screen size and adjusts the lighting to relieve his straining eyes.

It's a surprise when a familiar form sits across from him.

The Vulcan lieutenant has no books. Outside his frequent visits to Spock's office, Mr. Rekal seems to spend most of his free time off-campus. He's actually one year older than Spock, and already a respected marine biologist slated to join the _USS Inspiration_ on a two-year rotation soon. But Rekal's privately confided that he finds alien communities taxing – the telepathic stress of being surrounded by human emotions, the rigors of daily communication with illogical beings. Rekal is a relatively recent graduate, and that's something he'll need to learn to overcome in Starfleet. But for now he spends a good deal of his time in less populous parts of San Francisco, though he always seems to be around for Spock's office hours. Still, it's odd to see him here.

“Lieutenant,” Spock says. “Can I help you?”

“No,” says Rekal. He does not elaborate. The lieutenant carries an actual, dust-covered book in English titled _Middlemarch._

They both read a minute.

“I was unaware you spoke English,” Spock mentions.

“...I do not.”

Rekal leaves rapidly, book abandoned. Odd. Maybe he just needed to sit down awhile/

“Ah, Captain Spock,” greets a jovial voice. “Burning the midnight oil?”

“It is noon,” Spock points out, watching resignedly as Commodore Stoker takes the seat across from him. It seems he won't be completing much work today.

His reluctance to socialize doesn't stem from any dislike of the Commodore. On the contrary, Spock respects Stoker's experience a great deal, and would have no qualms talking to him about physics, or academy curricula, or – anything, really.

But it seems that Stoker is only ever interested in approaching Spock for a single reason.

“I was wondering, do you have some spare time this week?” the Commodore asks predictably.

Spock states that he does; he never likes to lie.

“Then you could cover my lecture for Exobiology? An introductory class, of course...”

Stoker describes their recent topics. Being rushed into a lecture on a subject he's only peripherally familiar with will mean hours of preparation, but Spock finds himself agreeing anyway. As he always does. He has a sense of obligation toward his respected superior.

And, also, he supposes he wouldn't be doing anything else with the time.

Stoker leaves. After a few more minutes Spock does, too; as has been happening more and more, the journals aren't keeping his attention.

He stops by Admiral Kirk's office, where the young clerk at the front lets him inside without a second glance. But the office is disappointingly empty. Spock spends a moment inspecting it – files organized in a perplexing array that would have infuriated Yeoman Rand, knickknacks and old diplomatic gifts lining the wall, a crammed bookshelf full of obscure 19th-century literature. Spock turns to go and nearly bumps into Kirk, just entering.

“Oh, Spock, good morning,” Kirk smiles; he always smiles to see Spock, who finds his shoulders relaxing at the sight. “Did you need something?”

“Only to ask if you are available to join me for a meal,” Spock prevaricates on the spot.

Kirk doesn't seem to notice this hesitance. He sweeps past Spock, rapidly shifting papers and padds on his desk, rifling through the drawers for a moment before locating a pair of slender reading glasses. All these items he packs away in a small shoulder-bag. “I'd love to, but I actually just came by to grab a few things... Komack's been hounding me and I need these done by tonight... and I'm afraid I'm actually meant to meet Antonia later.”

Kirk flashes another smile, but this time, it isn't so pleasant. Because it feels like it's aimed at that distant Antonia, instead. “Another time?” Kirk prompts.

It feels like a dismissal; it is. “Of course,” says Spock. And before he might say anything else – suggest another day, perhaps – Kirk has already walked out the door.

So Spock actually ends up skipping lunch in favor of meditating in his office. He's interrupted twice – once by an anxious student seeking advice, and later from a geophysicist who practically demands his opinion on a recent article.

Both topics _should_ be interesting. But Spock wishes people would leave him in peace today. Maybe that's unfair, though; Spock hasn't cared for company since coming to Earth. Hasn't cared for much of anything.

On a few occasions in the months since the _Enterprise's_ five-year mission ended Spock has managed to meet with Kirk – very briefly, for a few minutes – to talk. He's tried arranging more occasions to meet, like they did on the ship – chess-games, or meals together, or just occasions to visit some local attraction. Inevitably Kirk finds an excuse to refuse.

Spock has also – on nine separate occasions – tried to admit his recent feelings of unease, restlessness, listlessness. Tried to confide that a yawning ache exists in him, growing every day, and he doesn't know why.

And inevitably Kirk says, “Yes, I miss the Enterprise too,” and turns the topic to the latest news about the refit, his speculation over whether Kirk will be given command again in a few months, before inevitably cutting their talk short.

Spock does want Kirk to be given command. And he wants to serve as Kirk's first officer, as much as he wants anything. But sometimes he just thinks that he wants things to return to _what they were,_ and he's increasingly concerned that this isn't possible.

Sometimes it feels like his mind his broken, that there is something innately wrong with him.

He's visited the emergency room twice since returning to Earth, both times on imagined pretenses. Due to his unique physiology he was able to merit deep scans without any significant prevarication. each time he half-expected a doctor to say that he had strange hormonal irregularities, or a bleed in his brain, or... something. Something to explain this feeling.

He's perfectly healthy, of course. Which adds 'falsifying medical emergencies' to his recent list of imbalances.

Despite his fatigue Spock's weekly 'Advanced Probability Mechanics' lecture goes well. Afterward Rekal joins Spock in his office for discussion, as has become normal. Rekal often seems to be around campus after this course, and is _always_ present before Spock's daily 'Klingon Politics' course at 10am, though Spock remains unsure what business brings him to the Academy each morning. His presence is more tolerable than any of Spock's other company over the course of the day, but Rekal seems very stiff in his seat and fiddles with his notes 9 times during their talk, betraying discomfort.

Just as Spock considers hinting at the hour, Rekal surprises him with a comment not relating to scholarly pursuits at all.

“Have you chosen a crew for the upcoming training-cruise in December?” Rekal asks.

Spock turns, thinking of the Caitian from earlier. “No,” he says, and this time prompts, “Why do you ask?”

As a graduate, Rekal would not be eligible for a such a cruise. Spock is meant to take out a few cadets on a simple tour between major Federation worlds – Vulcan, Andor, Tellar, Rigel, and a few others – before cycling back to Earth. They'll be borrowing a relatively new ship, the _USS Excelsior_ , to give cadets an up-to-date experience. It shouldn't take more than a month, and Spock should be back well before the _Enterprise's_ refit is scheduled for completion.

None of this should be relevant to Rekal.

The lieutenant seems to choose his words carefully, sitting rigid and formal as he offers, “There has been some speculation about your career-plans after the training ends. I admit to – curiosity.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. Rekal must be picking up some bad human habits, like a tendency toward gossip. “I have no plans,” he says simply.

He expects that to be the end of it; but Rekal leans forward, dark eyes intent. “None at all?” He questions, quiet. “Do you intend to return to Vulcan, accept a ship or research posting - “

“I have not considered my future after this academic year, which is already scheduled.”

“That seems – uncharacteristically ill-considered.” A beat. At Spock's silence, the lieutenant adds, “I do not mean this as a criticism; you simply surprise me, Sir.”

Spock's response is not as thoughtless as Rekal implies; he simply possesses information Rekal lacks.

Namely, that there is little logic in mapping out his future plans when he might not -

“It is impossible to know what opportunities might be available in a year's time,” says Spock, forcibly diverting his thoughts.

Rekal agrees, glancing at him briefly. “Yes. I suppose that is true.”

* * *

  
Rekal meets him again the next morning, which has become usual, and Spock almost manages to feel animated as they discuss Rekal's study of Earth's oceanic life. Spock's morning class at Mayweather Hall lasts approximately two hours, seven minutes. He always finds it difficult to factor questions into his schedule, and today every inquiry seems wasteful, no matter how much he reminds himself that questions should be encouraged. Afterward, he deflects a few cadets who try to exchange idle chatter and escapes the Academy.

He's meant to visit his parents later for a late dinner. He has four hours until then, so he returns to his apartment with vague intentions of completing some grading. He only manages to complete a rubric and grade two papers. Fatigue drags him down, and long years of catching too-little sleep on the _Enterprise_ has drilled into Spock the need to rest when tired, as the occasion arises. So despite it being midday he sleeps for three hours.

Or, he tries to sleep. He feels so tired he doesn't want to move, but his eyes won't close. A dull ache starts to seep through his skull.

Finally Spock can procrastinate no longer. He leaves for the Vulcan embassy – where he will meet, for the third time, his betrothed.

Years ago, after Spock's first _pon farr_ triggered an attempt at suicide, he admitted to Sarek that he'd prefer a male bondmate. A suitable candidate was found. Six years later, his fever did not reoccur. After eight years came and went, Spock's new fiance changed his mind and retracted the offer. Spock still doesn't know why.

But he's proven that he is subject to Vulcan's ancient imperative, so he will probably fall victim to it again. As the second seven-year anniversary approaches that goal has assumed a new urgency.

Six weeks ago, his clan formally betrothed him to one of Sarek's colleagues – a quiet, thoughtful man twenty years Spock's senior. He's the fourth child of a lesser noble line, but his clan is one of those closely tied to Spock's, and certainly some politics motivated the arrangement.

Spock doesn't much care about that. During the few occasions they met Spock genuinely appreciated Vidan's company, which is all that matters.

In acordance with his parent's requests, Spock visits the Embassy at noon, where his father – as Vulcan's primary ambassador to Earth – enjoys a private suite. His mother's decorative touch extends everywhere, and Spock enters to find an elaborate dinner display waiting. Even for the family, and even for the occasion of entertaining Spock's betrothed, it's certainly excessive.

Amanda immediately insists on accosting him with a huge, squeezing hug. Sarek settles for an awkward shoulder-pat, which is uncomfortable in an entirely different way.

Standing at the end of the room, Spock's fiance – Vidan – watches this very un-Vulcan greeting with an indecipherable expression. But he raises his hands blithely in the ta'al, greeting Spock with every bit of the proper, formal dignity expected of one promised but not yet bonded.

Vidan's presence on Earth is itself a rarity. He is – technically – a colleague of Sarek's, though they do not meet often. Vidan's focus is refugee work – he often acts as an advocate for displaced species or cultures, as one of Vulcan's many charitable outreaches. It's a task that sends him all over the Federation; although his family reached an agreement with Spock's nearly two years ago, they've met only several times.

Not that this is unusual. Prior to his disastrous _pon farr,_ Spock had only spoken with T'Pring nine times in their three decades of engagement. Relative to that, Spock actually knows Vidan much better.

But the air remains formal. Apparently the three were debating recent relations with the Romulans prior to Spock's arrivals, a conversation they resume as Spock – being the youngest, and technically a guest – serves drinks.

“A Vulcan delegation would have a better chance of relating with them,” Amanda is saying. “I mean, if nothing else, wouldn't you like to know what happened? How your species split? The historical significance alone - “

“A fascination with history,” Sarek interjects, “is not sufficient reason to motivate politics.”

“All I'm _saying_ is you'll already have a common ground. And, for that matter, a better chance of understanding Romulan culture.”

Spock joins them at this juncture. Vidan accepts his drink with a nod, brushing the smallest of their fingers together as he takes the glass. “Do you have an opinion?” Vidan offers.

“I do not believe common blood is sufficient cause to assume we will reach a real understanding,” Spock replies.

Amanda declares the talk 'boring' and insists it's time to eat.

Vidan is in every way a pleasant, conscientious conversationalist. Even if Spock does not know him so well, he can always rely on formalities.

Their minds were highly compatible, so everything else will come in time.

Sarek is – as usual – solemn and quiet, listening with his unsettling focus as Spock and Vidan trade polite questions about work. Vidan talks a committee he's joined to present legislative suggestions to the Vulcan High Council. Spock discusses his unwilling knowledge of Starfleet politics, and speculates how a newly-promoted admiral may influence relations with the Tholians. On, and on, and on. All work.

Soon enough Amanda intervenes, sighing over their choice of topics.

“And I think you've both flattered each other enough,” she adds, with a touch of amusement. Spock really _does_ want to hear more about Vidan's past efforts negotiating with Klingon colony-worlds, but they switch topics anyway.

He asks Vidan how long he'll be on Earth.

“A month – perhaps two,” he replies. “Of course, my work can be unpredictable.”

“Oh, well, you'll just have to stop by and see Spock again,” Amanda encourages.

“If he desires it,” says Vidan.

* * *

Sarek is – quiet, throughout the dinner.

Relations with Spock's father have improved over the years. They are not always – comfortable – with one another, but things are not as tense as they were a decade ago. Furthermore, Vidan is _his_ colleague; and Sarek must think well of him to have arranged this match. So his silence is unusual.

Amanda doesn't seem to notice, though. If Vidan does, he is too polite to mention it.

The rest of the meeting is fine – which is to say, mostly pleasant, but also awkward. Spock is accustomed to this with his parents. He hopes talking with Vidan will become easier.

Spock leaves after a socially-appropriate length of time, using excuses of work when Amanda encourages him to stay. Sarek insists on walking him down the hall, obviously with some purpose; he stops Spock at the lift.

“Your mother and I have tried to meet with you several time during the past year,” Sarek says. “It is good you managed to come today. Have you been busy?”

“There is always work to complete.”

“Of course. If I may ask – does your recent distraction indicate health issues?”

“I am healthy,” says Spock, automatic. “Was there something you wished to discuss?”

Sarek assesses him a moment. “No,” he says at last. “It is nothing.”

Puzzled, Spock watches his father walk away. Sarek must have wanted to discuss _something;_ what changed his mind?

But then, he's never understood his father.

As Spock leaves the embassy, he catches a glimpse of a notice-board near the entrance. It mentions a vacancy due to an aide's sudden death.

And suddenly Spock thinks: would his parents care if he died?

He thinks: Probably not for long. There would be a notice in the paper, too. A Starfleet funeral. But people would forget him fast. People are good at moving on, and even now, he has far more acquaintances than friends.

He steps outside, and thinks: it would be easy. He could step in front of that bus – drop off the side of this bridge – it would only take a minute, a second -

Spock forces himself to contemplate his upcoming lesson plans instead. He carefully carves away and ignores his emotional responses. It doesn't matter; by the time he arrives at his apartment the stilted dinner seems like a faraway dream, and he wonders how a future can seem so positive in one moment, then incomprehensible in the next.

Illogical.

* * *

After he returns home, Spock tries to place a call to Vulcan.

Sessions with his mind-healer T'Les have waxed and waned over the years. In the immediate months following his suicide attempt during the first five-year mission he'd called her at least once a week – often more frequently. After eight months, she suggested relaxing the sessions to twice a month. Soon that was reduced even further – although at her recommendation the sessions never ceased completely. Spock realized the wisdom of this only two years after their meeting, when a particularly unfortunate mission ended with six of Spock's subordinates dead. Spock doesn't know if he'd have reached out, willingly, had their regular meetings already ended – but T'Les recognized his dangerous mood and quickly resurrected their weekly schedule until he was more stable.

Even now, when Spock can admit privately that he benefits from the sessions, it feels vaguely ridiculous to seek regular 'therapy' when Vulcans are meant to control all emotional responses. It's certainly not something he would discuss in public; only Kirk and McCoy know about the meetings, and aside from a vague question every year or two where McCoy checks that they haven't ended, both his friends respect Spock's reticence on the subject.

His last meeting, however, was a disappointment – mainly because it never happened. Spock is currently on a monthly schedule again, but he's resolved that he needs to talk to T'Les about several recent changes: excessive sleep patterns, decreased eating, and – always most difficult to discuss – a slight, very slight, inclination toward suicidal thoughts.

The last is not as concerning as it sounds. Suicidal thoughts hit him in waves, now and again, but he's learned to handle them better than by the outright denial that once characterized his early years on the _Enterprise_. He's never made a suicide attempt since that first incident – but that is, in part, due to these preventative sessions.

Last month he was unable to reach T'Les for their usual telecom call. She never reached out to reschedule, either, which is extremely unusual. So Spock's tension as he sits before his computer screen is not – only – due to the upcoming conversation.

After a minute, a Vulcan face appears on the screen.

It is not T'Les.

“Apologies,” says Spock. “I believe I entered the wrong identification number.”

Spock, of course, did not. But it is still a disappointment for the unknown Vulcan to confirm this. “If you are attempting to reach mind-healer T'Les, you should be aware that I have currently assumed a number of her clients,” the Vulcan says. “I am Sekor. Please relate the reason for your call.”

“What happened to T'Les?”

“That is private information, and not relevant to you.” A beat. “Please relate the reason for your call.”

Spock explains that he has a scheduled therapeutic session.

“And you have chosen not to visit in-person?” Sekor questions. “Healing of the mind is much more efficient when conducted through telepathy.”

“I currently live on Earth.”

“Very well; I suppose it cannot be helped. I will assume T'Les' role, then, and we can continue.”

Spock's cat Specimen chooses this moment to make an appearance. She always takes interest in video calls, and now she effortlessly jumps in front of the screen, sniffing. Spock pulls her back into his lap and buries a hand in her soft fur. The cat's warmth, as always, is a pleasant weight against him; even the repetitive act of stroking helps quell a bit of his restless energy.

“Please leave the animal outside for all sessions from this point forward,” Sekor disapproves. “Pets are a distraction, and your focus should remain on our conversation.”

So Spock locks Specimen in the bedroom; he ignores her plaintive meowing and sits back before the screen.

Sekor asks a few basic questions, which Spock answers. He has been attending sessions with T'Les for approximately 10 years (nine years, eight months, and six days, he says when prompted); they have only met in-person on several occasions, and melded nine times (Sekor comments that this seems 'unusual and inefficient'); and Spock previously intended to increase their current meeting-frequency, as he's been feeling particularly in need of an outside perspective.

Sekor nods. “Was there a particular subject you wished to discuss?”

Spock hesitates.

He meant to bring up his recent suicidal inclinations during last month; his fantasies have worsened and show no signs of abating. It would be illogical to avoid the most serious of his current issues – yet, he doesn't much care to reveal those shameful desires to a man he does not know.

Illogical. He does not need to trust Sekor to benefit from the man's perspective – and there is no rational reason to hide his thoughts from someone who is, after all, meant to fulfill T'Les' professional obligations.

So he says, “I have recently found myself preoccupied with thoughts of suicide.”

“I see,” says Sekor. Predictably, his expression reveals no visible opinion of this. His voice remains even and monotone. “Have you attempted to commit suicide recently?”

“No.”

“How long have you experienced these thoughts?”

“Nearly ten years, to various degrees,” Spock provides for context. There was a period where he strongly denied that he was suicidal, which makes it regrettably impossible to provide a more precise date. “But they have become more frequent recently.”

Sekor arches one eyebrow – the first sign of a reaction. “Ten years,” he echoes. “I presume this is why you first sought T'Les' assistance. And you still continue to attend these sessions? You have not been able to control your impulses?”

“...It is recurring problem.”

“How unusual.”

The healer's tone remains flat. Spock tells himself it is illogical to read judgment there; one of the first things his sessions with T'Les revealed is that Spock has an unfortunate tendency to perceive non-existent judgment from other Vulcans. It is natural that he would – _feel –_ vulnerable in front of a new healer. A new person to hear his most private secrets.

“Did you ever succumb to this desire to kill yourself?”

“Once. My attempt was unsuccessful.”

“Obviously,” says Sekor. Spock straightens. He reminds himself: he should _not_ imagine that the healer is judging him. This is a professional meeting. “I am uncertain how seriously you dedicate yourself to your health if you have truly made no improvements in ten years. However, we can certainly try to address any recent stressors. Please transmit your schedule; it will be necessary to greatly increase the frequency of your sessions in order to simultaneously address your concerns and accommodate my lack of experience with your situation.”

“Logical,” says Spock before he can help himself.

Sekor flicks him a silent glance that repeats, _obviously._

* * *

It's not unusual to be afflicted with _increased_ stress in the immediate aftermath of a therapy session. T'Les has informed him that this is the natural result of confronting distressing memories and thoughts. Despite his current tension, Spock knows that his attempts to meditate and sleep are usually much more successful long-term after speaking with T'Les, so he tells himself that his increased disquiet will not last long.

Then, heading to the Academy library in an effort to distract himself, Spock sees Kirk scrolling through a datapadd at one of the tables and changes direction. Socializing with strangers sounds repugnant right now; speaking with a friend, however, would be a welcome distraction.

But Kirk doesn't have time to talk. When Spock approaches him, he explains that he's meeting with his girlfriend, Antonia, in half an hour.

Over the years Spock has become well-accustomed to his friend's habitual pursuits with women. Despite common gossip, Kirk is almost always serious in his romantic endeavors; it is only that circumstances always seem to separate him from romance (sometimes, Spock suspects, by deliberate but unconscious design on Kirk's part). So those entanglements never last long.

Antonia is a recent, unpleasant exception. Spock tries not to let his own... inclinations toward the admiral... flavor his opinion. He liked her tolerably at the start of Kirk's relationship; now, eleven months in, it seems increasingly likely that the admiral may finally 'settle down.'

It's not a prospect Spock cares to dwell on – however inevitable it might be. Still, the notion would be easier to accept if Kirk were more present. For the first three months of their assignments on Earth Kirk and Spock met at least once a week. Now it seems that longer and longer stretches of time separate them, even though Kirk's academy-issued apartment is barely a twenty-minute walk away.

Spock understands that Kirk has a previous engagement. He asks if Kirk would care to join him next Saturday, instead, as there's an interesting event on campus -

“No, no, I think I'll be busy.”

Raising an eyebrow, Spock prompts, “Perhaps another time, then.”

“Of course,” says Kirk vaguely. “We'll talk later.”

Spock hesitates. He's well aware of the human tendency to make vague promises and then never follow through. Kirk doesn't usually utilize this sort of brush-off – but the way he's glancing around, like he already wants to escape this brief conversation, isn't promising.

But it seems petty to demand a more formalized meeting. “Of course,” he says instead, and watches Kirk go.

Maybe he should just return to his apartment and try sleeping again.

Spock feels very tired, suddenly.


	2. Chapter 2

Spock awakens to the notification that he's been nominated for another award. It probably says something about the frequency of this – or his priorities – that he only sighs and mentally schedules time to draft his acceptance speech. Maybe he can get away with a written note, but the admiralty always disapproves if he doesn't accept awards in person. They need the good PR, apparently. And for whatever reason Spock has become well-known in media channels.

He scrolls through this notification before even leaving his bed. Sets the padd on his bedside table. Then he lays there for three hours, occasionally planning bits and pieces of his acceptance, but more often than not trying to muster the motivation to move.

It's not meditation. He's just -

Resting, maybe.

But he does eventually rise. Rekal joins him during Spock's office-hours. The older Vulcan's quiet diligence is always soothing, and Rekal doesn't dwell on Spock's accolades except for a brief acknowledgment. Instead they have a pleasant discussion about Relak's recreational research on Earth's octopus populations (Rekal finds it a 'fascinating' animal, indicating a desire to meld with one) that somehow merges into a wandering conversation on humanity's social habits.

“I do not understand why humans insist on thanking me after each email,” says Rekal. “It seems an odd and meaningless use of time.”

“I prefer to view such responses as an acknowledgment that they received your communication,” Spock suggests. But he's thinking of something else. “I understand you have lived on Earth five years. Do you find it difficult to work primarily with humans?”

Rekal doesn't react to the shift. “My first year at the Academy was difficult,” he admits. “I understand why there are so few Vulcan recruits. I had previously journeyed off-world on several occasions, but always in the company of other Vulcans. I was incorrect in thinking I was prepared for the experience; it is very different to live in an alien culture, every day. But the other members of Starfleet are, generally, kind in the face of misunderstandings.” A brief tilt of his head. “ - Though I believe they are also often amused by my efforts to understand emotions.”

Spock knows what he means. “It can come across as – condescending,” he suggests. Rekal nods.

“Yes; that is the correct word. Though I do not think it is intended maliciously.”

“Do you regret leaving Vulcan?”

Rekal considers this question seriously, fingers briefly stilling over his padd. “On occasion,” he decides. “ - Less, as time passes.”

Spock understands that, too. He does not quite expect Rekal to continue.

“The most difficult part,” says the lieutenant, slow and measured, “is that humans seem to have many stereotypes about Vulcans. Some of them are positive, or neutral; some are close to accurate. But they always seem surprised to realize we are not a monolithic culture. And many of them view our – mental processes – as similar to that of a machine. I find it difficult to understand what any relationship with other species can provide, if they will not view you as an individual capable of independent thought and feeling.”

“Not all view us that way. It seems equally diminishing to make such a generalization.”

“Perhaps. But most judge Vulcans by making assumptions about our inner thoughts, with little concrete proof. My assertions, at least, are based upon empirical evidence.”

After Rekal leaves Spock teaches his usual class from 1000 to 1300, accepting congratulations with stoic indifference. A few of the bolder cadets keep trying to distract Spock with questions about his Campbell award, but Spock refuses to be sidetracked; some students will try anything to avoid lectures.

Afterward, Spock finds himself walking restlessly about the campus. He has a strange, nagging sense that he's forgetting something – that there's something he _should be doing,_ even though his research has been progressing adequately and there are no immediate demands on his time. On the _Enterprise_ it was always easy to bury this feeling in work – there were countless subordinates and projects to assess, strict timelines for missions.

But now Spock supervises no one but himself, and Starfleet seems satisfied by the fact that he continues to churn out papers now and again. Nevermind how erratic his work schedule has become, or how all of his work seems frustratingly useless.

He decides to stop by Kirk's office. But as before, Kirk doesn't have time to talk.

“I'm afraid I'm busy again,” says Kirk in response to his tentative approach. “We've been spending too much time together, anyway; you should enjoy this time on Earth, Spock. Make connections. From the way my students talk half the science department wants your attention.”

“Yes, of course,” says Spock quietly. There isn't any casual way to remind Kirk that they haven't talked for longer than six minutes in several months. Not outside their obligatory biweekly inspection of the Enterprise refit – a task usually accomplished as fast as possible.

At this point, it doesn't come as a surprise. Spock abandons his plans and returns to his own office. Outside the sun starts to sink, striping the clouds in shades of bronze and plum. He stares out the window, hands tingling numbly.

It would be ridiculous, of course, to expect to talk with Kirk as often as they did on the _Enterprise._ They both have other duties now, and Earth isn't a closed space. Even if it's not particularly flattering that Kirk seems to want nothing to do with him now that he has the option of other company -

No. That's unfair - does a disservice to the long friendship between them. Spock has more than enough proof of Kirk's regard; they've even touched minds on multiple occasions. There is no doubting _that_.

But human companionship tends to be more fleeting than Vulcan relations. Vulcans, connected to friends and family by telepathic links, share a tangible and permanent bond. Humans drift apart with distance, with time. Spock hasn't communicated with other 'friends' from the _Enterprise –_ like Uhura and Mr. Chekov – in months. Even McCoy's half-complaining communications have become less frequent. That's just how humanity functions; they forget anyone who isn't right in front of them.

If Spock and Kirk were posted farther apart, maybe they wouldn't talk anymore at all. The thought is unaccountably distracting.

Spock reminds himself that he is Vulcan; it is logical to accept reality as it is, rather than wish for things to change. He might, illogically, desire more intimate connections with old friends... but if he cannot have that, it doesn't matter.

And even if someone else holds Kirk's romantic attentions -

There's a special guest-lecturer on campus today. Maybe Spock should attend.

* * *

  
Adela Mhasalka is a highly respected technoanthropologist from Bolarus IX. For the first fifteen minutes of her lecture Spock finds it difficult to focus, but eventually the interest of the lecture holds his attention.

Until Mhasalka starts using one of Spock's missions as an example.

Well. More accurately, she's using the Organians as an example. The Organians are not – technically – an extinct civilization. (They are also not a 'living' civilization, consisting solely of non-physical individuals, but that's a distinction for legal experts to decide.) The important part, for the purpose of her lecture, is that there remain on Organia traces of the civilization that existed when Organians _were_ physical humanoids.

And these traces, Mhasalka explained, are almost without exception indicative of a primitive, agrarian society... unless you consider what is _not_ found within the survey sites. Remaining examples of in-house comfort items surpass the sophistication of agricultural tools or foodware – likely due to the fact that the Organians were already evolving beyond the need for physical nourishment. There are no signs of travel between ancient cities, probably due to telepathy making extensive travel redundant. There are no weapons of war.

Spock feels increasing unease as Mhasalka discusses how and why early assessments of Organia were misguided. The lecture is perfectly adequate. But Mhasalka inevitably keeps referring back to the _Enterprise's_ mission, and people glance in Spock's direction every time.

She keeps talking about the Organian culture. What they can deduce about the past, based on the present, despite the mysterious nature of these beings. She talks about their pacifism, their clear respect for all sentient life. She compares their stance to that of Vulcan – an advanced people who possess the capabilities for great warfare, but have learned to spurn it philosophically.

During the mission to Organia, Spock was tortured by a Klingon mind-sifter. The Organians must have known, but they did not choose to intervene.

As a Vulcan youth Spock was beaten and told he should die, that his life was illogical.

The woman compares Organians and Vulcans multiple times. They have _advanced ethical principles_ , she says – both races show a respect for all life, and it is this rational underpinning that characterizes and influences all their moral thought.

When Spock was six an adult Vulcan suggested that he should kill himself. He was an aberration, she said. It would be better for everyone.

Is that an 'advanced understanding of ethics?' Is that logical?

Dr. Mhasalka talks about the progression of the Organians, their ascension to a different state of being. Their vast mental abilities and psychic prowess – also, again, comparing this in an aside to the Vulcan concept of _katras_ and life-beyond-the-body.

What the _Enterprise_ saw on Organia were illusions, mirages. For all his wisdom and experience, Spock has learned this: he cannot trust what he sees. He cannot trust reality. And yet sometimes he cannot trust himself, either.

The Klingons tortured Spock. He thought he emerged unscathed, despite the reputed prowess of the mind-sifter. It hurt so deeply, though - is it true that he recovered? Or was the damage just invisible? Was he maimed in some horrible, invisible way he can't even recognize?

He thinks of that Vulcan woman, telling him to kill himself. An 'advanced understanding of ethics.' Spock thinks of the ways he is flawed and wrong, his mind possibly broken. Definitely broken.

There's a reason he's seeing a mind-healer, after all.

Spock leaves the lecture halfway through. People notice, and it probably sends a message he doesn't intend.

But it isn't Dr. Mhasalka he's trying to escape.

* * *

  
“Sorry, Spock, I'm busy tonight, too.”

Spock hesitates in the door of Kirk's temporary office. His captain doesn't even look at him, engrossed in a padd. Spock wants to insist – wants to ask for an explanation, at least. Kirk has always shown a skill at helping him regain equilibrium. But it is unfair to expect that of a friend.

Kirk keeps typing at the padd, ignoring him.

Of course, Kirk always says Spock should feel free to approach him with personal concerns. Past evidence suggests he'd want to help. But then, usually when Spock is disturbed Kirk notices – pesters him, badgers him, until Spock has no choice but to confess his concerns.

It's easier to talk when he's cornered. But Kirk keeps typing. And in the face of this disinterest Spock cannot bring himself to push forward.

He says, “Of course, Captain,” but it doesn't look like Kirk hears him.

* * *

Specimen the cat practically assaults Spock when he arrives home, tripping up his legs and occasionally batting at his ankles. Spock sets out some food, but when he sits down Specimen ignores it, crawling into his lap to butt his chest.

Spock has work, though. He pushes the cat aside and brings up his class's latest essays on the computer.

The grading takes far, far longer than it should. Spock stops intermittently, for no particular purpose, which is both illogical and inefficient. After only three papers he pauses to pet Specimen for seven minutes. After the seventh paper, he simply sits for awhile, thinking of nothing at all.

He's just tired. It's fine. He'll catch up on sleep later.

Spock sets the work aside to answer an email query – not from one of his students, but a researcher stationed on Starfleet Outpost 18 asking for his opinion on a team project. Spock responds without considering it too long and forces himself to keep grading.

He pauses after the eleventh paper to breathe deeply. Close his eyes. He does not sleep – Spock is fairly certain of this - but when he moves to start grading again he's unnerved to find that an hour has passed. The keyboard seems far away from his hands.

Fifteen papers graded. The researcher writes back, enthusiastic, thanking Spock for solving a problem that has troubled their team for months. Spock regards the email blankly, then discards it. He can't recall what question he answered in the first place. It doesn't seem worth the effort of remembering.

It doesn't matter. This is all he is, isn't it? Research and knowledge and data, all used to benefit – someone else. That is how he makes himself worthy. Because, as a person - as an individual - he is nothing without these practical contributions. So he needs to finish grading the papers.

The last paper flunks. Which probably means Spock isn't teaching well; he makes a mental note to revise his lesson-plans. Then Spock moves onto planning the lecture he's covering for Commodore Stoker.

He's so, so tired.

Spock can't remember the subject of the upcoming lecture, but somehow, five hours later, there's a reasonable plan drafted in front of him. Spock skims it. It seems serviceable. He does not really recall writing it.

But it exists. So that's one thing accomplished. Spock is probably just tired. Too tired to bother returning to his bed, or shifting out of his uniform. He takes two steps to the couch and lies down, Specimen leaping up to join him.

He does not manage to sleep for hours. But his mind goes very quiet, so perhaps the effect is the same.

* * *

Spock wakes the next day to find a number of messages awaiting him, as per usual. But he's surprised by one in particular – an invitation to Mr. Sulu's wedding.

It's rare for senior Starfleet officers to marry. They are wedded to the fleet, Kirk always says. It's difficult to imagine where Sulu found the time to court anyone, especially without the sort of arranged marriages Vulcans practice. Spock has no idea how he would approach a relationship outside the bounds of Vulcan custom.

The invite, of course, is probably just a necessary piece of diplomacy. Like how the captain always invited admirals to dine when they visited the ship, even if Kirk loathed them. Sulu probably feels an obligation to include him.

Spock leans back in his seat. After a minute he blinks, realizing Specimen is on his lap. He strokes the cat and moves the invite to his 'working' folder, unanswered.

He probably shouldn't go; it seems rude to intrude. But the thought hurts.

Next is an invitation from his mother, suggesting they visit a new theatre performance together. She extended a similar invitation three months ago, but canceled at the last minute; Spock strongly suspects she forgot about him again. He moves this to 'working' as well.

There is a message from Kirk. It's just a forwarded note about the progress of the Enterprise's refit. They'll be visiting the _Enterprise_ soon – as they do every two weeks, by schedule. The note includes nothing that requires his attention, but Spock dutifully memorizes it anyway, preparing for the off-chance that Kirk approaches him for a discussion.

Suddenly it's seven in the morning. Spock watches the clock. Seven-fifteen. Seven-thirty.

He should probably take a shower. Specimen meows, which finally forces him to rise and replace the cat's food. It's somehow vanished since the last time he was on his feet.

Spock forces himself to wash, to set his documents into order, to change into a fresh uniform. He leaves and arrives at Starfleet just in time for the start of his usual office hours; Rekal is already at his door when Spock arrives.

It's not like anyone else generally comes to speak with him. Maybe Spock isn't doing enough to make himself approachable.

Maybe no one wants to talk with him?

Rekal does, though. Spock's unending fatigue becomes less noticeable as they converse. Spock likes talking with other Vulcans. As long as they're not colleagues of his father, anyway. He always thinks, illogically, that politicians will end up gossiping about his missteps and Sarek might disapprove – as though Vulcan lawmakers and ambassadors have nothing better to do than notice Spock.

But it's pleasant to talk to someone, blunt and easy, without having to worry about odd human colloquialisms or emotional subtext. Without having to spend half the conversation analyzing and predicting someone else's subjective responses to a situation. Vulcans are more logical than that, of course.

After a brief but interesting discussion about the ethical merits of specimen tagging, Spock mentions his visit to the embassy in passing.

“Have you assumed diplomatic duties during your time on Earth?” Rekal asks.

“I have no official business there,” Spock assures. “I was simply meeting with my bondmate.”

He uses the word for _bondmate_ that means soon-to-be-married. Rekal stiffens.

“...I was under the impression your previous bond was broken,” he says, slow.

That is true. Spock was briefly engaged three years ago, just prior to the seventh anniversary of his first _pon farr._ But the seventh year came and went, and the eighth, without a recurrence; and Spock's fiance broke their arrangement. Perhaps, Spock thought after, it was too much a reminder of his mixed heritage. He can find no other reason to account for his irregular cycles.

“It is a recent arrangement.”

“I see.” Rekal pauses a moment, exhaling. “I did not realize... Excuse me, Commander. I believe I am late to a meeting.”

“Of course,” says Spock, surprised. He watches Rekal leave with remarkable alacrity.

He has another forty-five minutes until his class begins. The time passes very slowly without Rekal.

Perhaps he shouldn't have tried discussing personal topics. His people are not often appreciative of 'small-talk.' As always, Spock remains too human to relate to other Vulcans.

* * *

Spock covers Commodore Stoker's class the next day. It proceeds adequately, judging by the impressed gazes and whispered murmurs he overhears as the cadets file out of the room. But Spock stays behind for a moment, gazing down at his notes, which all seem foreign. He can only barely recall a few instances of the talk. The idea that he might have been speaking complete nonsense, and simply _wasn't paying attention,_ rattles him.

Vulcans are meant to have perfect memories. Maybe this is normal for humans? Do all humans forget multi-hour lectures that _they prepared_ immediately after the fact? If so, Spock needs to be much more lenient with forgetful students.

“Um,” says a voice. “Commander? Excuse me, do you have a moment?”

It's Cadet Zeless again. The Caitian bounds over with her loping stride, shoulders a little hunched. She was in Commodore Stoker's class.

“Cadet. Can I help you?”

“I was just wondering if you'd made any new plans for the training-assignment.”

“There has been no change, Cadet. Is there any reason you're so interested?” There are other training cruises, of course – at least several each year.

She curls her hands together – a nervous gesture. “I've just been hoping to make a spot,” she admits. She says it quietly – as though this is somehow embarrassing, or like Spock hadn't assumed as much. “...I've been looking forward to it.”

“I can forward you the application details when they are announced,” Spock offers.

Her hands twist again. Sharp Caitain nails glint – except, no. The ends are ragged and torn. Spock tilts his head, something niggling at him. “No, Sir, that's – that's alright. Thank you. Um, I enjoyed the lecture today.”

Cadet Zeless flees before he can respond.

Spock leaves, putting the odd student behind him. He has vague thoughts of returning to his office, maybe trying to continue working on his experiments at the labs on the south end of campus – but then he's outside his apartment, the sun setting and scattering purple clouds overhead. Spock looks up and blinks. He's not sure why he walked back. Specimen greets him when he comes inside. He feeds her, then stands staring at the empty cupboards for awhile, too exhausted to even contemplate heading back out for food.

He keeps... forgetting things. His body acts, but his mind drifts for large portions of time. He's vaguely aware that this is - somewhat - normal for a human. The human mind frequently skips over repetitive parts of the day. But the same is not true of Vulcans.

Perhaps something to discuss with Sekor.

* * *

“Have you meditated lately?” is Sekor's predictable reply to Spock's concerns.

Spock admits he has not. Lately it's been very difficult for him to focus. Sitting, also, is hard at home for the simple reason that if Spock stops moving he is always inclined to fall asleep.

“It is illogical to expect your mind to work efficiently if you refuse to care for your body, or take the time to complete basic mental exercises,” Sekor rebukes.

This is, of course, true. It's illogical to think otherwise. And it's not that Spock fails to understand how the mind and body are linked. It's only that lately, understanding these things makes no difference. He can sit by the window, aching of thirst, and yet continue suffering for hours rather than force himself to his feet to retrieve water.

It's not logical, but he does it anyway. And that's...

These problems have not yet become evident in his work. Which, again, seems to imply that he's making a choice. That he's deliberately refusing to be better. But it's different. His classes, his research – these things are non-optional. They must be completed as surely as his body will continue to breathe without any conscious directives. Right now the work might be grueling, torturous, and confused – he might not even remember doing it, so he cannot be certain of the quality. But Spock will always complete his assigned tasks. Failing at that is unthinkable.

He tries to explain this. “Then you must simply come to view your physical maintenance in the same way,” Sekor sighs. Like this is obvious, and easy.

Which it should be. It is logical to maintain his body to maintain his mind. Vulcans always follow logic. There's no reason it should be this difficult, and even Spock doesn't understand the problem. Which is only more frustrating.

There is no _reason_ for him to act like this. Which is surely why even a Vulcan mind-healer cannot help him.

If there is any cause for his relapse, it's that he grown tired of waiting for change. For ten years he's fallen into a pattern. He feels tired and hesitant, obsessed with picking apart his own flaws, his errors. He talks to T'Les. He slowly pulls out of the latest spiral, somewhat more settled. He resolves to keep healthier habits, to be mindful of his weaknesses, to stay close to his friends.

Then, a year or so later, it always happens again.

Sometimes there's a precipitating event. A mission gone wrong, lives lost (people who died because of him). Sometimes it's something petty and personal that no one else even notices, but resonates with Spock enough to send him brooding alone in his quarters. Like the time his previous fiance ended their betrothal. Or the mission where he met a solemn half-human orphan on a colony, and realized his life could have been even worse (so it doesn't make sense that he's still so consumed by the past).

Maybe the occasion where he spoke with a suicidal patient at a starbase, and read the next day that she'd killed herself...

It's easier to deal with these illogical impulses when there's a reason behind them. Then there is something he can directly address. He can work through the resulting thoughts with T'Les, dragging himself back to functionality through logic, rationality. Spock understands logic. He can use that to stabilize himself, given time.

But sometimes there is no logic to his condition. He just – breaks, slowly. And it's harder to fix a problem with no clear cause.

And worse than all this is the certainty that even if he recovers, it will happen again, and again, and again.

Faced with that – really, it just seems illogical to keep resisting.


End file.
